Bend Test
by bobblychicken
Summary: WARNING: This one-shot request contains some very mature content involving everyone's favorite cropduster and a certain sinister P51 Mustang. If you read it, you can't un-read it. You have been warned.


He had missed this. The sudden thought, the realization, surprised him. Actually, it was surprising to be thinking anything at a time like this; the close, wonderfully pleasant distraction of a certain orange and white airplane moving and crying beneath him.

Dusty moaned. His clipped cries and Ripslinger's heavy breathing echoed off the walls of the hangar. They were both free to make some noise this time. The heavy winds outside drowned out any sound they made. The hangar, along everyone who might stop them, was three miles away from town. He couldn't have planned it any better. When racing season came around and Dusty had left to start his tour, Riplsinger had started looking for a place. Somewhere temporary, to be alone for once. No devoting energy sneaking around or straining to keep the others from hearing. He already knew he wouldn't be able to control himself when Dusty finally returned.

The hangar, hidden in a nearby rock outcropping deep in the woods was convenient, and then the intermittent hail storm that came with the setting suns was just pure serendipity. They had managed to sneak out before the first blast had hit the area. The utmost care had to be taken in order for Skipper not to notice. As usual, the old war bird was the biggest obstacle.

"Rip?" Dusty questioned, confused.

It snapped Ripslinger out of his thoughts, then he smiled, lowering down and back a bit to nip at Dusty's wings before picking up the rhythm again. He wasn't sure why he enjoyed himself so completely with him. Ripslinger had been with plenty of planes in his time, sure, with a few boys among the girls too, and a lot of them had been exceptional in one way or another, but still it had all felt rather bland. But this little orange over-trumped crop-duster was strangely compelling in ways Ripslinger had yet to determine. Perhaps it was that he was the only one in that damned place who truly had fought and demanded what he thought was best for him during his break-down and was the first to stand up for him and point out the little bits of progress that he slowly made. Maybe it was the distant resemblance to something he once was that he apparently hadn't buried deep enough in the effort to forget everything before or anything to do with the tragic, ironic trigger that had drove him into the life he led afterward. And he had to give Clarice her dues for her part in that one for sure. Alas, perhaps it was simply the way Dusty's small frame fit so comfortably underneath his.

Hell, even Ned had noticed. An ill-timed, off-colored joke and an angry Dusty had all but launched himself at the green-fronted Zivko. Ripslinger had the distinct pleasure of pulling him back by his tail. Dusty had never liked being reminded of how small and fragile his form was. He also never seemed to notice how fascinating it was that his wings, back, and tail fit Ripslinger's jaws like they had been built for it. It would have been so simple to just go and snap the little airplane right in half, but he wasn't about to do anything to stop this anytime soon.

Luckily, even if whatever bond they held was apparent enough for even Ned and Zed to notice, the Navy Corsair hadn't decided to. At least not yet. And Ripslinger knew if Skipper finally deigned to look up and see what was happening, it would stop. Strange how strongly he wanted this to continue. Stranger, still, how his recent observations of the whole situation worried him so.

"Ripslinger..." Dusty moaned.

His voice sent a cold shivering throughout Ripslinger's body. His engine let out a deep, harsh growl and he pressed himself further down into Dusty.

"Again." Ripslinger whispered.

"What? Rip?" Dusty asked, trying to recover from the sudden pressure.

Then Ripslinger bucked into him real nice in a way that made Dusty arch up and yelp.

"Louder." was his reply, and the way the realization dawned across Dusty's face was downright perverted.

"Ripslinger..." Dusty teased, his voice quietly demure as he tried to be defiant.

He bucked again and Dusty groaned, and grin now plain on his face.

"Oh, god, Ripslinger..."

"Louder." he insisted.

Dusty kept calling his name, and Ripslinger kept giving it to him just the way he liked it. He adjusted his position, leaning down and fiercely biting his way around Dusty's back and wings, carelessly leaving marks just deep enough to tempt the fluids beneath to bleed through. Ripslinger rumbled with an idle deep enough to vibrate the molecules in the air, sending pleasurable shivers through Dusty's frame that were almost too much to take as his own engine fluttered feverishly. Dusty's wheels tensed on the floor of the hangar as he made muted little whimpers, audible even as he bit his lip, overwhelmed by the pain that broke into his state of euphoria with every bite.

"Scream." Ripslinger commanded through gritted teeth, his own wheels digging into Dusty's wings.

Dusty gave an almost vicious smile, his breath coming in short, shallow pants.

"Mmm... Make me."

Ripslinger's engine revved in lecherous determination, and with great relish, he did. Oh, but he had missed this.

* * *

Ripslinger didn't kiss. Ripslinger bit. He had worried at Dusty's frame like a dog with a bone the first few times, and had, when the damage started to become severe, tempered himself onto sharp love bites. Dusty had managed to get him to kiss him on the mouth a few times, but Ripslinger was never long in getting carried away and his teeth becoming involved.

Ripslinger had always done that, to a certain extent; a light grasping in his mouth of whatever soft object happened to be nearby. For the most part he preferred to be alone when he did it. It was a stress thing that usually became more pronounced during his racing tours, but had now recently intensified to chewing and gnawing; a clear sign that the monster that he'd turned briefly turned into, that had always been there to some degree, was still right under the surface. Dusty figured the chewing might even have some calming effect on him and that it was really Ripslinger actively trying to self-sooth and keep it back. It was all a real testament to how thin the balance that Dusty had tried so hard to cultivate was still stretched. He had only become even more disturbed when he had caught him doing it in his sleep once. A human seeing this behavior might think that it was cute, dog-like even and therefore positive, but other aircraft walking in on him would definitely think it unusual and surprising, and would probably re-evaluate whatever interaction they were about to have with him if they found him in the middle of it.

Now, floating in the afterglow that almost drowned out the storm outside, Ripslinger was delicately licking and grooming at the bite marks he inflicted earlier in apology as they tried to catch their breath. The Mustang was still just as psychotic as Caligula, but still. He had looks and skills and, however unintentionally on his part, made Dusty feel good for the first time in ages.

It was a pity that Ripslinger hadn't missed him. Dusty knew the gorgeous cooling body next to him was only his to play with on a temporary basis. They had both agreed that, and even if Dusty had gotten used to the situation quicker than he ever thought he would, it didn't mean things could change. He would miss it when Ripsilnger finally cast him aside.

Dusty knew he had been thinking about something. He was thinking about it now, touches pausing midway through, then continuing on nonchalantly as if nothing had happened. Well if Ripslinger wasn't going to tell him, there was no way Dusty could get it out of him. Time had proven that. Dusty wondered if he was even really finished. Where Dusty would be pegged as having a seemingly endless supply of energy, Ripslinger was more the type to have an endless libido. Any other night he would have welcomed it, and usually did, but Dusty had just gotten back from an exhausting but fruitful racing season where he'd acquired a few more titles to his name. He was worn out and despite his protests, Ripslinger had insisted they sneak out tonight. Not that Dusty wasn't impressed by the planning he must have put into it. He'd lived here all his life and still had never known this place was here. Yet all he could think about was how it would have been nice to have been missed while he was gone. Or at least trusted.

"I think Skipper is beginning to suspect." Ripslinger murmured against the side of his head.

Dusty wondered why he'd said that out of the blue, a little creeped out at the thought of him suddenly having the ability to read minds after the whole debacle with the Cutters. It was an often annoying occurrence that Dusty was noticing more and more as they spent more time around each other.

"How do you know?"

"He's been asking me all these questions," Ripslinger answered. "He asks where I was in the mornings and why I became more available after you left. He says that I seem to have calmed down a lot in the last few weeks and then questions if it's the change of scenery. He says all these things with heavy sarcasm and right in front of the others so that I can't retaliate."

"It might just be all in your mind." Dusty suggested, but Ripslinger shook his front, mumbling an "mm-mm".

"Are you saying we should be more careful?" Dust asked.

"If he understands what's going on, he'll make sure it stops," Ripslinger asserted.

"Since when do you respect any of Skipper's wishes?" Dusty remarked bitterly.

Ripslinger looked surprised as Dusty turned and shuffled away from him, hugging one of the many pillows they had brought to his belly in his partially folded landing gear.

"Look, just go to sleep. When we get back tomorrow I'll talk to Skipper."

"About what?"

"About minding his own damn business."

"And you expect him to listen?"

"He'd better. I don't understand why he should worry about something that's none of his concern."

"Of course it's his concern. He's afraid that you're in danger around me." Dusty could almost feel the wry-humored expression on his face. "He knows I am still a threat."

"And after you so accurately followed his instructions of opening up to me."

He felt Ripslinger come over and press himself over the top of him to gently lick the bite marks in his back, seeming to vibrate with odd pleasure.

"Can we worry about this in the morning? I'm exhausted, I - "

" - just got back after a long racing season, and I won't let you sleep." Ripslinger finished for him. He sighed with mock-irritation. "Bitch, bitch bitch..."

"Well if would be nice if you would just listen to me once in a while."

"Oh, come on, where's the fun in that?" Ripslinger got off and came around to face Dusty, kissing him. "And I _did_ miss you, you know."

 _How does he_ _ **do**_ _that?!_ Dusty thought as Ripslinger once again captured his mouth in his.

The kiss turned from as playful as they got, to vicious as Dusty felt a strained growl against his lips from Ripslinger and the usual onslaught of biting began. The bastard couldn't possibly act like he didn't know that it drove Dusty nuts, and not always in a bad way. He found himself clinging into the comforters and cushions, lifted off his landing gear when Ripslinger attacked his wings, and ended up all but underneath him again when it was finally over. Dusty was breathing hard when they pulled away from each other. Smiling gently, Ripslinger pulled the pillow Dusty still had out from under him and tossed it up so that it landed over his eyes and laid down.

"Goodnight." He said.

Dusty grinned down on him, dented and sore all over.

"Jerk." Dusty sassed as he gave Ripslinger a gentle push as he snuggled up next to him.

* * *

Anon request of airplane sexy-time. That will be all.


End file.
